


A Hunt Worthy of the Damned

by Monstrrum



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Canonical Character Death, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gen, M/M, Matricide, Melancholy, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-04-19 22:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14247468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monstrrum/pseuds/Monstrrum
Summary: "...dull, piss colored eyes, which only the most foul of beasts dare to expose to their prey. Your eyes are much of the same, hunter. Yet,  you are not akin to the beasts, hm? No, no you are hesitant when acting out for these tiresome half-truths. You must see the beast within, awaiting a pointy reckoning too, dear hunter."





	1. Born of Blood

**Author's Note:**

> short beginning

> _"Oh, yes... Paleblood... Well, you've come to the right place. Yharnam is the home of blood ministration. You need only unravel its mystery. But, where's an outsider like yourself to begin? Easy, with a bit of Yharnam blood of your own... But first, you'll need a contract..."_

The scent of rot is the first to great his nose once he rises. The next is the sight of an old room caked in dust and mold. He scrunches his nose as he shifts to erect himself from the soiled gurney. His body aches as if he had not moved for ages. While stretching, he familiarizes himself with his current environment. Books, vials, and blood are all that inhabits what appeared to be an infirmary.

After glancing briefly at a piece of parchment displayed ever so obviously, he finds himself exiting to a lower floor. More gurneys litter the building... that and a strong smell of blood and wet dog. There before another door is a sight that truly disgusted him. A large hound, with a strange body resembling that of a lanky man, gnawing the gorish remains of what once was a living man from the looks of the wet blood. The fiend had yet to notice him. The right choice would be to turn and run... Yet, something compels him to move forward, towards the beast. With each step, the wicked wood moans painfully enough for the hound to notice. And it lunges, forcing its nails into his abdomen, slaying him without hesitance.

Almost like a mere dream, he wakes once more on the stairs of a downtrodden workshop. His body strangely did not ache, and his felt anew. To his left, he notices, a fountain with strange disfigured imps reach for him. He remembers them from when he first rose from the infirmary. To his front lies an abandoned doll and more of the creatures, beckoning him forward with offerings. He is given an ax and pistol. For a fight soon to come, he assumes. Further up the steps into the shop he finds a man, equally disturbing as the man who infused the Yharnamite blood with his own.

"Ah-hah, you must be the new hunter. Welcome to the Hunter's Dream. This will be your new home, for now. I am... Gehrman, friend to you hunters. You're sure to be in a fine haze about now, but don't think too hard about all of this. Just go out and kill a few beasts. It's for your own good. You know, it just wants hunters to do! You'll get used to it..."

The hunter, Havelock, is dismissed from Gehrman. He finds himself returning down the stairs to examine the dream. Fog and flowers pollute the area with a sickening musky smell, and the imps litter the ground. Each and every one of them reaches for him and beckon. He ignores them for now and approaches the headstones lining the stone paths. One, in particular, takes him back to where he once was. The infirmary.

It held its same admirable scent and appearance as he made his way back to where the man-beast had so easily murdered him. This time would be different, he was sure, due to the newfound weapons placed in his possession. Again the wood cries out under his weight, and again the beast notices him. It lunges and he sidesteps to then plunge his weapon into the creature's spine. The shriek it gives sends goose flesh to his own. Forcing the ax out is a hassle and he falls back with a huff. If more beasts such as this were to come, he would shamefully die to them. He was unsure if he would be given the chance to come back once more to repeat the process. He rises and continues to the next door and up another set of stairs to find himself in a strange place. The word Yharnam enters his mind and it comes to him this must be where he has been stranded. Yet another strong scent of blood and rot hit him in waves and he can only scrunch his nose. A feeling of dread, as the realization of beasts and monsters around every corner, hits him.

He gives a silent prayer as he marches on by decaying corpses of horses and men.


	2. Drawn to Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slow but progressive. Meet a new man and within hours ruin something new.

 

> _"Who... are you? I don't know your voice, but I know that smell... Are you a hunter? Then, please, will you look for my mum? Daddy never came back from the hunt, and she went to find him, but now she's gone, too... I'm all alone... and scared..."_  

He listened to the girl and hesitated before giving her an answer. He gave her a simple yes then left her alone as she had been before he had come. Hearing how alone and afraid she was, had left an emotion of regret in his soul, yet what could he do? He could not take her with him for she would certainly die as he had, countless times too large brutes and disturbingly large birds, but not return to this life. The least he could do was find the guardians and return them if they were alive and not feral as the other men and women stalking the streets. 

Havelock trudged, defeated, to the fountain near the child's window. He was tired and full of grief. Rest was much needed and he could do so for the time being as all inhabitants in the area were dealt with. Well, until he returned to the dream. He would rest there but Gehrman and The Doll made him quite uncomfortable, not that he did not enjoy talking with them. It was just they gave him the feeling of interruption as if he was not meant to be there to invade their home in the first place. He sighs and sits upon the fountain, eyeing the messengers who reached for him as they held a small bell. It was no lantern so he had not bothered to investigate its presence. Their beckoning though was quite persistent, but he had not the slightest of ideas of what he should do. So he opted to sift through his belongings for something to please the creatures. He offered a vial of blood with no reaction. He gave them an old notebook he had acquired in the dream. He even slowly slid a Molotov in their direction only to have it knocked over and frankly stopping any further attempt in giving them weapons at all. 

Once again he searches for an item to satisfy their call until he finds an old rusty bell. He inspects it and let it ring out a lovely yet eerie sound, in which the bell the creatures had responded in a solemn tune. It seemed to please them as they began to disappear into a mist. He smiled beneath the cloth of his coat and let his eyes close as he relaxes against the stone.   _It's nice to have a small mystery resolved without bloodshed._ He thinks to himself, reminded of the gore covering him. Immediately after his relaxation began, a feeling of being not so alone chilled his spine. He slowly opens his eyes and is startled to the point of falling back into the fountain by the sight of a large man in tattered clothing. He hears a faint laughter as he struggles to right himself and grab ahold of his weapons. The laughter continues as he identifies the source to be the beastly man. He aims his gun at the man's chest and means to shoot until a heavily accented voice addresses him.

" A hunter calls to me, frightened like a lass before her betrothed. How befitting of a man set to slay beasts. Am I to escort an anxious bride to her groom?" The man chuckles and raises a hand to Havelock's gun to push it away. "Do not yet attack me unless you wish to wake in your dream before the hunt is over." 

Havelock stares unto the man shocked at how calm the man was and how he  _joked_ about him being afraid. He did just come from a ringing bell! He had every right to be just a bit perturbed. The man moves to get closer making the smaller step back into a carriage. The laughing subsided, the man seems to be looking him over, though it was impossible to be sure as the man had wrappings covering his eyes. "Interesting how you cower with your tail tucked between your legs. Truly a fledgling hunter," He stops and breathes deeply "you have nothing to fear of me man. I, the Father, Gascoigne am at your service, to aid you in your hunt." He bows and offers his hand to shake.

He hesitates before taking Gascoigne's hand, surprised to find a hardened grip, pulling him forward. He manages to squeak out his name, after he was brought to an embrace followed by heavy hands patting his back, "I am Havelock!" which surprised them both before Gascoigne began to laugh. 

"Truly a fledgling indeed. Introductions aside...," He lets go of Havelock and examines his surroundings " this area is clean of beasts. Disappointing. " He looks back at the smaller man and gestures for him to lead the way.  _At least I had some rest..._ Havelock huffed and put his weapons away. He moved past Gascoigne and led the way into the sewers for he had not ventured towards the deeper systems. Had he looked back after passing the girls window whom he made a promise to, he would have witnessed The Father sniffing at the window as though he were familiar with it.

* * *

The deeper they had gone only proved to be much more difficult than the city above. Climbing up and down ladders only to be knocked down into the claws of disfigured and elongated creatures was a bit traumatic for Havelock for he now clutched at Gascoigne's clothing until they were safely away from a ledge they had just climbed up upon. He would deny any allegations of doing so if there were to be an undisturbed soul which Gascoigne would mention it to. The man would jokingly push Havelock back when he stood anywhere near a ledge earning more than a shrill scream from him. He himself did not find it enjoyable at all. He punched Gascoigne after the first twenty playful pushes and found himself tossed off a ledge. He was unable to make a sound, as an enormous rat scurried towards him immediately, after his back collided with the ground due to all air leaving his lungs. Gascoigne jumped down and plunged his ax between the rat's shoulder blades making it scream in agony before collapsing on top of Havelock, dead with black blood leaking from it. He offered no assistance to the man on the ground and instead opted to pull his ax free and wipe it with his bare hand.

Havelock gasped and pushed the corpse off of him and started to gag. His body was sticky and covered with black ooze. He held his arms away from his sides, continuing to gag and sputter until he caught sight of his taller hunter acquaintance. He glared and flung some of the gunk at him only receiving a glare as well as bared teeth in return, but it was more intimidating and almost... _feral_ , he thought. Gascoigne looked back to his ax and continued to clean without so much as a sound. After he finished he ushered Havelock up the ladder, to the ledge he was thrown off of, and into the streets of Yharnam. He was pushed forward as the tall man tried many doors until he grew tired and broke one down with sheer and frightening force. Once inside, he sat in the most decrepit of chairs caked in dust, rot, and webs. Havelock simply stood in the small abandoned home unsure of what to do. Nothing was happening. No fight, no beasts, no talking or jokes, though Gascoigne had done most of the talking since Havelock was selectively mute, so it was more along the lines of monologuing or psychotic ramblings than actual conversation. 

Finally, Havelock had decided to search, knowing he would fail yet still attempting to busy himself, for any sort of water or somewhat clean cloth to rid his clothing of gore. Soon he found he had no other choice other than to shake it off and deal with the stains and dampness until it dried, he could live with the smell fore blood was nothing new to his sense of smell. He began to strip off his clothing, down to his undergarments and shivered as bits of the cold blood made contact with his skin. As he shakes the clothing, not only did the vile wretch come out of the clothing but a music box was given to him by a girl he met but hours ago. Its music began and the melody was soft, reminiscent. 

A clatter of metal against wood was the only warning he had gotten before a heavy body wrapped its self around him with sharp fingernails digging into his arms. His anxiety and fear spiked as his mouth felt heavy, unable to make a sound even if he wanted to. The weight of the body increased until he was kneeling on the ground with his head being pushed forward. His neck ached and felt as though it could break with all the pressure applied. A growl sent off alarms in his head, screaming for him to fight, but he was rendered useless by the solid flesh. It growled and held him tight, all while the music box continued its tune. What had winded it up that much? Or was time simply slowing as it had seemed when he was pummeled by the Cleric Beast? The nails stopped their digging, blood had begun to slowly grace his skin with an appearance, any quick movement would tear the flesh from his body in awful grotesque strips. He remained still and waited for the death he thought would come. Yet a bestial voice came instead, and he swore to what diety there may be that the beast that held such a voice was out for blood, drawn to it even, as it slowly bit into the flesh between his neck and shoulder, whispering

_"Viola..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems strange? Good, hope you are enjoying and apologies for the wait!  
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> Notice an error? Let me know!


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